


throw your head back laughing

by dayevsphil



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Idiots in Love, M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-19 14:09:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22178767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dayevsphil/pseuds/dayevsphil
Summary: Cara has to wonder how much of it is performative. Of course she does; everything she knows about this game points to them being in a Scene of some sort. They seem to genuinely enjoy each other's company, if nothing else.
Relationships: Chris Kendall/PJ Liguori
Comments: 10
Kudos: 52
Collections: Jestbee's Birthday Fics 2020





	throw your head back laughing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jestbee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jestbee/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JANE <333333 you're such an amazing person and a huge inspiration and i hope this makes you smile!!
> 
> read and reblog on tumblr [here!](https://dayevsphil.tumblr.com/post/190149594723/throw-your-head-back-laughing)

"Hello, welcome to -" Cara cuts herself off in the middle of her spiel when she looks up from the podium. Two men stand in front of her for probably the ninth time this year, matching grins on their faces as they watch the recognition wash over her. She smiles, closer to a real one than a customer service one, and gestures behind her. "Your table is available. Do you need me to escort you?"

"Thanks, love," one of them says with a wink, "but I think we can manage."

He takes his companion by the sleeve and makes a beeline for a table near the middle of the restaurant, the same one they always go for. Cara bites back a laugh as she makes eye contact with one of the waitstaff.

Nate makes a big show of sighing and turning back around to tell the kitchen at large about their arrivals. She can't hear it from here, but Cara knows that people who have been here long enough are either thrilled or frustrated, and the new hires are probably just confused. When Nate is looking at her again, Cara taps her glasses and holds up three fingers. He makes a note on his order pad. She wonders how big the betting pool is going to be this time.

The men are, as always, ensconced in their own little world the moment their asses hit the seats. Their long legs overlap under the table in a comfortable, familiar sort of way, and they talk to each other with such dramatic hand gestures that Cara wishes she could hear the topic that's got them so riled up.

Sometimes she makes excuses to walk by their table and eavesdrop. So far she's learned that they're passionate about science fiction, craft supplies, what specific colour the ceiling is painted, and gender expression. It doesn't seem to matter if they're talking about the sliding scale of acceptable femininity for men to show in public or how easy it would be to build a robot out of cardboard - they have the same amount of enthusiasm, every time.

Cara has to wonder how much of it is performative. Of course she does; everything she knows about this game points to them being in a Scene of some sort. They seem to genuinely enjoy each other's company, if nothing else.

It's always a strange atmosphere for the first half hour or so after they've been seated. They talk and they eat and they seem oblivious to the wary eyes of the staff around them, even though anyone with half a brain knows they're fully aware of the attention on them. The only time they left without anything happening was when the place was practically empty and there was no audience of unsuspecting patrons for their nonsense.

That had been a different sort of anticipation. Like the whole building had been waiting for a beat that never dropped. The men had left without fanfare, and every employee had gone home perplexed.

The general consensus, up to that point, had been that they did this for the free food and champagne, but their need for some kind of audience opened up a Pandora's box of possible motivations. Nate's convinced that they're doing some sort of social experiment, one of the line chefs thinks they must be YouTubers or something, and a very optimistic new waitress has been positing that maybe it's genuine every time.

"Maybe one of them has short term memory problems," she'd explained to Cara. "Or they're _very_ on-again off-again."

Cara had nodded along at the time, but she's not buying it. It's the grins on their faces every time they meet her at the hostess podium that convince her they know exactly what they're up to.

As far as Cara can tell, they might just do it for the hell of it.

Forty-something minutes after the men are seated, the signs start to show themselves. Cara drifts over to Nate and nudges him, interrupting his bussing for something much more entertaining. He grins and turns around. Neither of them make an effort to hide that they're staring, because it's happened seven or so times before.

The man in glasses is twitching like he's nervous, all of a sudden, and keeps patting at the same spot in his jacket. Cara might find it sweet if she hadn't seen it so many times.

"Ha," she whispers. "Told you it was him this time."

"They don't have a pattern," Nate argues. He's always a little prickly when he loses.

"But only one of them is wearing a jacket," Cara points out. "So obviously, it was going to be him. Is it a 50/50 split again?"

Nate sighs and shakes his head, pulling out his notepad as the men start talking in low voices across the small table. "No, most people guessed the other guy. You're only splitting the win with two of the cooks."

"Nice."

It seems like Nate wants to whinge some more, but then the man in glasses is standing up. The waitstaff all pause in what they're doing and turn to look, prompting the other diners to look as well. With hilariously awkward movements for how practised Cara knows the motion is, he drops to one knee and takes his companion's hand in both of his own. Some of the diners gasp or whisper amongst themselves; the waitstaff mostly just seem annoyed to lose the pool.

"Christopher," the man starts. His voice trembles the perfect amount, and Cara is reluctantly impressed by how sincere they make this seem every time.

"Oh my god," Christopher stage whispers. Cara wonders if that's actually his name.

"We've been friends for so long," the man continues, "and I've been so deeply in love with you for most of those years - I couldn't believe it when you first agreed to see a film with me in a non-platonic sort of way."

Out of the corner of his mouth, Nate murmurs, "What the hell is that accent? I can't place it for the life of me."

"Not sure," says Cara. "He just sort of sounds like he's on telly, doesn't he? Like a presenter?"

"D'you think there are hidden cameras?"

"Surely we'd have seen it somewhere if there were."

"But why else -"

"Shh," says Cara.

They're all so familiar with this song and dance that she knows Christopher is going to fan at his face with his free hand and then start tearing up. Watching him cry on demand is her favourite part. They can argue about motivations once they've left.

Sure enough, Christopher is wiping at his eyes and grinning down at his partner in crime. "Are you serious? Of course I'll marry you."

The other diners applaud politely when the men embrace. Cara makes a mental note of those who aren't, those who roll their eyes and mutter things to their companions, those who look upset when Christopher tugs the other man into a short, sweet kiss. She's not sure if it's a perk or a curse to know which of their regulars hate her, but it's certainly useful to know who to sit by the loo.

"Better bring them their celebratory fucking champagne," Nate sighs.

"Every goddamn time," Cara says, unable to hide the fondness in her voice. She can't help but root for these idiots. "Don't forget to comp their food."

"That's not even why they do this," says Nate. He's whinging, but Cara knows it's not actually a bother to him.

Nate's right; the free food and champagne clearly isn't the reason they've proposed to each other a half dozen times in the middle of their restaurant, but it's probably a bonus. Just like weeding out the homophobes on the staff is a bonus.

When everyone goes back to their dinners and their jobs and the newly-engaged-again men are back in their seats, Cara approaches them.

"Congratulations," she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. She sees the way Christopher's eyes linger on her interlocked Venus tattoo. He holds tighter to his fiancé's hand and gives her the same shit-eating grin as whenever they ask her for a table.

"Thanks, love."

"I'm Cara," she says, tapping at her name tag. "Just so you know how to address the invitation."

The man in glasses laughs, loud. He still seems like he's performing in some way, but a look passes between them and makes his voice softer, less put-on. "I promise that we would," he says, "except that we got married eight years ago."

Cara bites back a cackle of her own and shakes her head, trying not to make eye contact with any of her curious coworkers. She's definitely keeping this one to herself - you never know when another opportunity to win a betting pool will present itself, after all - so she doesn't exactly want to draw attention to the conversation.

"Alright," she says. "I better go back to work."

"Don't you want to know why we do this?" the man in glasses asks, sounding a bit put out.

Cara shrugs. "For the hell of it, right?"

Another look passes between them, and Christopher tips an invisible hat to her. "Pretty and smart, eh? Do you accept tips?"

Technically, no. And while she thinks she probably deserves one for this, Cara knows she's got a good chunk of everyone else's tip money tonight.

"Do you?" she asks instead. "Because I've got a tip for ya. You should try saying no next time."

"Saying no?" Christopher echoes, grinning across the table.

"We haven't tried that," his husband agrees. "Not as much fun, maybe, but surely the sympathy from it will make up for that."

"Plus, I can cry more."

Cara snorts and heads back to her podium. As curious as she is, she thinks it'll be more fun to wait and see how it pans out the next time they wander in to shake things up.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to cat for reading this over and falling in love with cara, you're wonderful


End file.
